Hamish drove off, taking Sonsie and Lugs with him. He could let them out for a run in the heather on the road back.
The day was grey and misty. As the Land Rover mounted a rise above Strathbane, he looked down on the place he loathed most. He always thought the town a scar on the beauty of the Highlands.
He parked outside police headquarters and went up to the detectives’ room where Jimmy was waiting. “I’ll take you down to the cells,” said Jimmy. “Daviot is thrilled to bits. He’s about to hold a press conference.”
“I hope you took all the credit,” said Hamish uneasily.
“You’re still frightened of promotion in case they take you out of that backwater called Lochdubh. Relax. I did a Blair. I took all the credit.”
Hamish was led to Betty’s cell. The door was left open, and a policewoman stood on duty outside.
Betty was sitting on the cell’s narrow bed. She looked up when he came in.
“I just wanted to say goodbye,” she said.
“Why?” Hamish sat down on the bed next to her.
“We were friends, believe it or not. I even began to think at one time that it might be nice to be married to someone like you.”
“Why did you have to go and murder two people and ruin your life?” asked Hamish.
“Passion,” she said. “Have you ever really been in love, Hamish? Deep, all-consuming love? It tricks the mind. Jock always had some excuse. ‘We’ll get married next year, or when I’ve had the next exhibition,’ and I believed him because love had driven me mad.
“I’ve asked my lawyer to contact Jock and tell him to come and see me. Even now I can’t let go.”
There were voices outside, and then the policewoman came in and handed Betty a letter. She opened it up and I glanced at the signature. “It’s from Jock,” she said.
She read the letter while her face grew stiff with pain. Then she numbly handed it to Hamish. Jock had written:
Dear Betty,
I am not coming to see you and I will never forgive you for what you’ve done. I never really wanted to marry you but you’d lent me money I couldn’t pay back and you were such a good agent I thought I’d string you along. Don’t contact me again.
Jock
Hamish sat in an awkward silence. Then he said, “Well, that’s that. You’ll chust need to get on with life.”
“In prison?”
“Why not? No death penalty. It didn’t come out at the interview, but it was you that defaced the portrait of Priscilla, wasn’t it?”
“I got sick of him raving on about her beauty. Oh, God, help me! I don’t know what to do.”
Hamish stood up. “There’s nothing you can do but take your punishment. Have you no remorse for killing these two people?”
“No. I despised them both.”
Hamish left the cell, and the policewoman slammed and locked the cell door behind him.
∨ Death of a Dreamer ∧
Epilogue
Never give all the hart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss.
—W. B. Yeats
As he drove back down into Lochdubh, Hamish saw the mobile-unit being towed away.
He found he was looking forward to his evening with Elspeth.
She was in the bathroom when he entered the police station. “Is that you, Hamish?” she called nervously.
“Only me. Betty’s locked up tight. Don’t use all the hot water.”
“I already have. You’d better stoke up the fire.”
Hamish lifted the lid of the stove and added kindling and peat to the dying fire.
It was grand to have Elspeth for company, he thought. They’d been through a lot together. Her psychic abilities were better than the seer’s any day. He felt like going up to Angus and demanding his fish back.
The phone rang. What now? He went into the office. Jimmy’s voice sounded down the line, harsh and upset.
“She’s hanged herself, Hamish.”
“What? How?”
“With her tights on the bars of her cell.”
“I thought they would take anything like that away from her.”
“There’s going to be an enquiry, and that means statements and forms and bureaucracy by the mile. You’d better come over tomorrow and make a statement about her condition when you saw her last.”
“I’ll send it over, Jimmy. I’m heartsick about the whole business.”
“Well, it’ll save the state a trial.”
“Did she leave a note?”
“She wrote on the back of a letter from Jock Fleming. It simply said, “You’ve killed me, Jock.””
Hamish felt a sudden burst of anger. “I’m going over to see that bastard tomorrow. If he hadn’t been stringing her along, these murders might never have taken place.”
“Don’t punch him,” said Jimmy wearily, “or he’ll charge you with assault and you’ll lose your job.”
“I’ll keep my hands behind my back.”
“Good man.”
“How’s Blair?”
“Who cares? As far as I know, he’s back home convalescing. See you.”
Elspeth came out of the bathroom. She was made-up and wearing a filmy gown of green silk chiffon and high heels.
“You look a picture,” said Hamish. He bent and kissed her cheek. “I’ll put on my best suit.”
“You mean your only suit,” said Elspeth.
He went off into the bathroom to shower and then into the bedroom to dress.
Elspeth smiled to herself as she heard him whistling. Everything was going to be all right.
The phone rang. Hamish went into the office.
“Hamish?” said Priscilla’s voice.
“Who else?” said Hamish coldly.
“Hamish, I saw the story in the newspapers, and I think I should explain.”
“Explain what?”
“I was on my way to see you when I met Betty Barnard. She asked me where I was going, and I said I was going to see you because Angela Brodie had phoned me to say you had a concussion. Betty said, “Don’t worry. As his future wife, I think I should be the one to take care of him.” I now realise she was probably lying.”
“Why did you believe her?”
“I had seen the pair of you together. I thought you were in love with her, Hamish.”
Hamish gripped the receiver hard. “Tell me, Priscilla, if at the time you believed Betty, why should you care? You’re engaged to be married.”
“Was engaged to be married.”
Hamish could feel his heart beating hard. “Was?”
“Yes. I broke it off as soon as I got back. It wasn’t working out. I’m tired of London. I’m thinking of coming back and working at the hotel. I miss my home.”
“That’ll be grand. When?”
“I’ll need to give a month’s notice. After that, I suppose.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Hamish said goodbye and slowly replaced the receiver. She was coming home for good. Priscilla was coming back. But she hadn’t said why she was so upset when Betty lied to her about marrying him.
He finished dressing and went into the kitchen. Elspeth smiled at him and said, “Don’t you look…” and then the smile faded from her face.
“Priscilla,” she said flatly. “That was Priscilla on the phone.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Hamish’s face flamed. “It wass a private conversation.”
“You poor sucker. She keeps jerking your chain.”
“You’ve got no right to speak to me like that.”
Elspeth sighed. “One’s as bad as the other. She sat at this table one evening and told me how she was looking forward to her wedding to dear Peter.”